


A Common Hunger

by Saucery



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Abusive Parents, Adoption, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Amorality, Anal Sex, Authority Figures, Bad Touch, Badwrong, Barebacking, Begging, Bukkake, Cross-Generation Relationship, DILFs, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dark, Depraved, Desire, Disturbing Themes, Drama, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Facials, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Father/Son Incest, Fingerfucking, Forbidden, Guns, Inappropriate Behavior, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marathon Sex, Marriage, Married Couple, Multiple Orgasms, No Dialogue, Open Marriage, Oral Sex, Orphan Stiles, Orphans, Parent/Child Incest, Polyamory, Porn, Pseudo-Incest, Rough Sex, Same-Sex Marriage, Seduction, Sexual Abuse, Smut, Statutory Rape, Target Practice, Threesome - M/M/M, Triggers, Twisted, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Underage Sex, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Rafa have a new son. Trouble is, they want him in ways they shouldn't.</p><p>
  <b>HEED THE WARNINGS.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Common Hunger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [officerstilinskihale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/officerstilinskihale/gifts).



> In this universe, Chris married Rafael rather than Victoria, and thus never had Allison, just as Rafael married Chris rather than Melissa, and thus never had Scott.

* * *

 

Chris and Rafa have been married for a decade. In those years, they've matured, fought, made peace, made love, and discovered that they really are meant to be together. It's time they added to their family; Chris, in particular, has always dreamed of being a parent. So he and Rafa adopt the recently orphaned Stiles Stilinski, sixteen and vulnerable and all alone in the world.

Well, he isn't alone anymore. Stiles arrives at their home with his gangly, awkward limbs and his shyness and his sweetness and his warmth, and although Stiles has every reason to be uncomfortable with his new guardians, he tries his best to be a good boy, a good _son_ , like he'd been for his dad. He wants so much for this to succeed - he wants so much to _belong_ again - that he does everything he can to win Chris's and Rafa's approval. He helps out around the house and cooks dinner for them and blushes whenever he's complimented on his cooking, like he doesn't deserve compliments, but he does, because he's beautiful and generous and giving. Chris and Rafa can't believe how lucky they are.

Things get complicated when Stiles's need for approval changes, when it grows in unexpected ways. Neither Rafa nor Chris get why exactly Stiles's blushes have become a constant phenomenon, but when they find out that it's because Stiles had accidentally seen them having sex through their slightly ajar bedroom door one night, they sit him down and have a talk with him, like normal parents, reassuring him that it's okay, that he hasn't done anything to be ashamed of, that they'll be sure to close the door from now on.

And that should be it - problem solved - except it isn't. They know that Stiles is aroused by the idea of them fucking; they know that, on some level, Stiles sees them as sexual beings, and _likes_ it.

That's when Chris's feelings darken into something else - something greedy and guilty and wrong - and what begins as a simple desire to make Stiles smile transforms into a desire to have Stiles _near_ , to stand behind him in the yard as Chris teaches him how to shoot guns, to place a guiding hand on Stiles's wrist and adjust Stiles's grip, to feel the heat of Stiles's back against his chest, to hear Stiles's breath stutter when Chris eases his shoe between Stiles's feet and gently urges his legs apart, ostensibly to correct Stiles's stance. Stiles never manages to hit a single can, and maybe that's because Chris is distracting him, or maybe it's because Stiles's fingers are trembling.

Rafa isn't any less immune to Stiles. Whenever he sees Stiles emerging from the bathroom after a shower, sleek and slender and lissome, with droplets of water glittering jewel-like on his flushed, damp skin, Rafa has to wonder if it's deliberate, if Stiles is consciously putting on a show, or whether his seductiveness is a natural extension of his youth, and he doesn't understand what he's doing, at all. The tiny towel around Stiles's waist scarcely covers his thighs - his soft, soft thighs, that Rafa suddenly yearns to lick, to bite, to claim as his own. Stiles has already given so much to him - unconditional love and endless devotion - that Rafa wants to return it by looking after Stiles in bed, by training Stiles in how to suck a cock without choking, or how to move his hips when he's getting fucked.

It's wrong. It's so horribly wrong, but they can't resist, and they can tell that Stiles feels it, too, even though he sometimes looks at them with a terrified sort of innocence, an innocence that should make them feel worse but instead makes them want _more_ , makes them want to see Stiles wanton and lost, sobbing through his release, no longer ignorant about his body's needs.

God, he's so - Stiles is so perfect for them, a gift neither of them deserve, but they're going to claim it anyway, because it's _theirs_. Stiles is theirs.

They don't even have to discuss it; they've been married long enough to know themselves and their bond inside and out, to instinctively recognize what they both hunger for. They just meet each other's eyes over Stiles's head, on a Friday evening, while Stiles is reclining between them on the sofa, watching television and blinking sleepily at the screen, warm and pliant, trusting and relaxed. Stiles doesn't even stiffen in surprise when Chris tilts his chin up and kisses him - a chaste, affectionate kiss, more fatherly than not. All Stiles does is make a murmuring, questioning sound - and that sound goes straight to Rafa's dick, thickening it and lengthening it, so he _has_ to slip a hand under Stiles's T-shirt, has to feel that hot, smooth skin, miles and miles of it, punctuated by a pair of small, tight nipples.

Stiles gasps, jolting to life like a struck nerve, because _this_ isn't chaste, because it can't be explained away, because there's no excuse for it. His eyes are wide and shocked and, yes, a little wet, but Chris deepens the kiss as carefully as he can, making it slick and slow, making it _serious_ , convincing Stiles that Chris will be there for him, that they both will, forever.

And they are. They're there for him during his first orgasm at someone else's hands (Rafa's hands, rough and callused on his dick, working it and _working_ it), and his first blowjob (Chris's mouth, expert and skilled), and his first experience with anal play (Rafa's finger sinking into him, glossy with spit). Afterward, Rafa carries Stiles, naked and shivering, up the stairs. Stiles's arms are locked around Rafa's neck, like he needs shelter, like he needs protection from what's happening to him, because it's too intense to bear.

They fuck him in their bedroom and hush him when he begs, Chris tenderly wiping the tears from Stiles's cheeks as he slides himself into Stiles's kiss-swollen mouth, inch by molten inch. It's as powerful as Chris had imagined, as intoxicating and dizzying, and the sense of defiling Stiles, of doing the forbidden, only makes it better. Richer. _Sharper_.

Stiles is slippery with sweat and sticky with his own semen, because he can't stop coming. When Rafa finally pushes his cock into Stiles after an entire hour of steady, relentless prep, Stiles _screams_ , so ready for it that he arches, that he curves right off the sheets, his fists tangling in them, his erection twitching and spurting a fresh dribble of pre-come onto his stomach. It must hurt to be hard, being sore and sensitive after having come so many times, but he pleads with Rafa to give it to him faster, to speed up a bit, just a bit, please, please, _please_.

But Rafa doesn't quicken his pace, because this has to be unforgettable for Stiles, because Stiles has to remember Rafa as the man who taught him this about himself, who taught Stiles that he's made to be fucked. Only when Stiles starts shuddering uncontrollably, his eyes rolling back, does Rafa allow his hips to snap forward, slamming into Stiles over and over again, until Stiles tosses his head and cries.

Chris comforts him, wraps a broad palm around Stiles's leaking dick and strokes it in counterpoint to Rafa's thrusts, giving Stiles what he craves, making Stiles come. Chris uses his _other_ hand to jack off onto Stiles's face, and the sight of Stiles marked like this, dirtied like this, makes Chris grunt like he's been punched, because he can barely take it, because he's doing this to his precious boy, god help him, and he's _loving_ it.

Rafa's clearly loving it, too, teeth bared in a snarl as he jerks one last time and fills Stiles to the brim. Stiles's hole squelches obscenely when Rafa withdraws, sloppy with Rafa's leavings, and as Rafa runs a soothing thumb along its red, inflamed, glistening rim, Stiles sighs exhaustedly, mewling in complaint.

Stiles goes boneless after that, eyelids heavy and legs still spread, because he's too weak to bring them together. Chris wipes him down with a cool washcloth and then turns him onto his belly to expose his ass, rubbing cream into his anus to reduce the pain that will inevitably follow.

But Stiles is too far gone for pain or pleasure, now, his eyes swept clean of everything, transported beyond ecstasy into a state that's almost sacred, almost free. Stiles doesn't protest when Chris and Rafa settle on either side of him, pressing their bodies against each other, and if it seems for an instant that the blankness of Stiles's expression crumples, surely it's an illusion, because soon, Stiles is falling asleep to endearments whispered in his ears. He's safe here. He's cherished. And, most importantly, he has a home.

 

* * *

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Check out [my blog](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
